


love’s way

by elephantbag



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Taemin-centric OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 08:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantbag/pseuds/elephantbag
Summary: He’s still a teenager, but time goes by fast and he’s soon approaching his twenties, and it seems like he should have his shit together much more than he actually does. Definitely enough to know how to approach someone he’s interested in. Never mind that he has to do itfour fucking times, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
Relationships: Choi Minho/Lee Taemin, Kim Jonghyun/Lee Taemin, Kim Kibum | Key/Lee Taemin, Lee Jinki | Onew/Lee Taemin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	love’s way

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this video](https://youtu.be/4jRVDmjuPJI) of SHINee watching One Fine Day at the dorm, but vaguely takes place before the start of the Everybody era. Thank you to my beta for fixing my mess and please enjoy ♡

Taemin is unsure when it started or if it even classifies as something that has a beginning and an end instead of something that just _is_, perhaps always has been for as long as he’s been with his members, but he _needs _them. His heart is constantly overflowing with how much he loves them and all of the different reasons why he does, all of the distinct, complex ways that he does.

It’s in all the little ways they’ve helped him through the years, coaxing him out of his shell, supporting him through voice changes and growing pains, taking on bullies and angry managers, weathering out the worst of being a teenager under the watchful eyes of a nation, always by his side.

They’re nurturing, but he is too. As annoying and bratty as he enjoys being, he listens and pays attention when it’s needed, spends time with his members outside of practices and schedules when they can, drops by their places when they have free time. He loves playing games with them, loves eating meals with them, loves drinking himself stupid with them. He loves it most when they’re lazy or giggly, when Jinki presses his nose into the base of his neck and kisses his collarbone sleepily; when Jonghyun scratches the nape of his neck and giggles into his mouth fondly; when Kibum is so tired he falls asleep quickly, lips going slack after a few kisses; when Minho is so drunk he kisses sloppily, lips pressing closer to his cheek or his chin, catching the corner of his mouth.

It’s a little too much sometimes, his cheeks hurting from how big his smiles are, his stomach cramping from how often he laughs, his whole body burning up from the attention, the love, the warmth in all of their interactions. He’s rarely one to initiate skinship, much prefers it when the others come to him, but his hands itch with the wish to touch, to close around someone’s forearm, to slot into the empty spaces between someone’s fingers.

At first, he believes it’s the newness of it, the way he’s never been in the constant, close presence of other boys, especially other boys who are clearly happy to be near him and ready to take him under their wing, as if they were destined to be together instead of trainees who were well prepared enough at the same time. Every interaction is fresh, unexpected. They hold his hand, so carefully, like they were entrusted to care for something precious; they carry him on their backs, on their shoulders, pick him up as if he were a bride and dump him playfully on the dangerously small bunk bed; they cuddle him, sometimes standing in a circle and bumping foreheads together, sometimes indulging in makeshift blanket beds on the floor and becoming a pile of gangly limbs.

He gets used to it, fits into his role as maknae with no issues despite his initial fear of being pushed around and told what to do by his hyungs, especially as it only ever happens in the form of gentle teasing. Time passes and he’s called all sorts of things by people of all ages and genders: “adorable” and “cute” when he’s still a child, “pretty” when they give him long hair, “beautiful” and “handsome” as he matures. The various compliments make him happy, of course, but never is he happier than when his hyungs join in with interviewers or variety presenters to shower him with kind words. It warms his body from head to toe, his heart fluttering and his stomach twisting in strange knots, different from the ones he gets when he’s anxious. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to recognize it for what it is: being complimented by people you’re attracted to and interested in.

It messes with his head when he does recognize it – he knew he liked boys, he’s not _that _obtuse, but _four _at the same time? – so he leaves it alone for the time being, only ever thinking of it when it’s impossible to ignore. Unfortunately for him, that’s nearly always, seeing as he’s stuck with his members day in and day out, being constantly touched or looked at as if he hung all of the stars in the sky.

It takes him months to do anything about it, this cold, terrifying feeling taking over every time he so much as considers doing something that would be seen as out of the ordinary for the others. He’s still a teenager, but time goes by fast and he’s soon approaching his twenties, and it seems like he should have his shit together much more than he actually does. Definitely enough to know how to approach someone he’s interested in. Never mind that he has to do it _four fucking times_, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Getting to it, as it were, involves a lot of fumbling, a lot of flustered mumbling, and even more embarrassingly, becoming aware that his members _know_. They _have _to know, with the way they raise their eyebrows and press their lips together in barely contained amusement, holding his waist with much more strength than is needed to help him when he stumbles near them, patting his back much lower than is useful when he chokes on air trying to flirt or do something equally stupid.

It gets to a point where it feels like he’s burning up from the inside, caught in a game of cat and mouse in which he’s somehow annoyingly, excruciatingly, both the cat _and _the mouse. It all comes to a head when he finally can’t stand it anymore: he just blurts it out, halfway through an action movie he stopped paying attention to after the first fifteen minutes, too distracted by all of them closely around him, the mix of cologne and shower gel in the air overpowering and intoxicating.

“You guys know I love you, right?”

The main character on screen runs and runs and runs, a long chase, and it feels exactly like what trying to tell them about his feelings has felt like for a long while.

“Of course, Taeminnie!” Jonghyun replies, moving even closer to press their sides together, winding an arm around his back and pulling him in tightly in a sideways hug. He lowers his face into the crook of Jonghyun’s neck, cheeks burning as he realizes they’ll make him spell it out for them, either because they think it’s the sensible way to go about it or because they like to watch him squirm.

He feels a finger poking the squishy part of his hip, under his comfy cotton t-shirt. “Is something wrong with Taeminnie?” Kibum asks in a light, singsongy voice, an all-knowing quality to it that does nothing to help his rapidly reddening cheeks.

He surfaces from his hiding place, his head snapping towards Kibum as he slaps his wandering hand away. The spot where Kibum’s finger was touching his bare skin is all he can think about, heartbeat fluttering in his chest.

“Oh my God, just shut up,” he whines, the red heat in his cheeks making its way down his neck. He hears quiet laughter echoing around the room, but all he can see is Kibum and the amused gleam in his eyes, the confident twist of his mouth, the pretty way his shapely lips stretch to form a suggestive smile.

He doesn’t make a decision to end his misery as much as his body makes it on its own, vaulting over throw pillows to place him in Kibum’s lap, his hand falling heavily on the back of the couch to steady him before he covers Kibum’s mouth with his own. The laughter and throwaway comments die down immediately and he can do nothing but freeze in place, terrified he’s read the situation completely wrong and fucked up his relationship with his members far beyond repair.

As a reaction to his own panic, Kibum freezes as well, body going stock-still so close to his that he swears he can feel it as if it were his own. Their mouths are left slightly apart, sharing quick, shallow breaths. He’s midway through coming up with an excuse for his actions that no one will buy when a hand covers one of his cheeks, as light as a feather.

A thumb smooths over his cheek, back and forth, calming and repetitive. Fingers stretch to tuck his hair behind his ear, scratching his scalp a little. It sends shivers down his spine, leaving him more breathless than he can ever remember. For a moment, it’s as if they’re the only ones in the room, the roaring in his ears making it difficult to care about anything else.

“Hyung,” he whispers, fingers clutching the back of their couch tightly. Kibum’s nose digs into his cheek, dragging across it, tracing its rounded shape. Kibum’s lips touch his skin, a barely-there press of the edges of his cupid’s bow. He wants so badly to pull him into a second kiss and this time never let him go, but he’s keenly aware he’s no longer running the show.

“You’re always so impatient,” Kibum whispers back, the puff of his breath ticklish where his mouth presses the words onto the top of Taemin’s cheekbone, making him squirm in his place. Kibum’s fingers trace the shell of his ear, curve around the shape of his jaw and land on the long length of his neck, strong and sure, thumb resting decisively over his rabbiting pulse point. “I should stop giving you what you want, it only encourages your bad behavior.”

“But I’ve been waiting so long,” he retorts, whining right into Kibum’s ear and pouting afterwards for good measure. It’s hard for him to talk about his feelings so openly, the others right there, probably still watching them, maybe pretending to be watching the movie again. It’s much easier – and, truthfully, much more gratifying – to play into their roles, to act cute in hopes that Kibum caves in the face of his adorableness without the need to have a heart to heart.

The clock in their tiny kitchen ticks quietly in the background, once, twice, thrice, while he moves around in Kibum’s lap and wonders if Kibum is going to smile at his antics and give him what he wants, or, as it happens sometimes, smile at his antics and throw him off of his lap to go fend for himself or bother someone else.

“Christ, you’re annoying.”

And then Kibum is kissing him.

He can hear a strangled gasp coming from one of the others, too low to guess who it belongs to. It’s enough proof that the members are still watching them and the knowledge of it simmers under his skin, takes some of his attention off Kibum’s lips as his ears strain to pick up more sounds. It’s not a very smart move on his part; Kibum is awfully perceptive and knows him way too well, catching it quickly and tightening the hold he has on his neck, thumb digging into his pulse point for a moment, just shy of being too much.

They part to breathe, the air they share between them heavy, stifling. It’s intense and rough when Kibum goes back in for more, a thunderstorm compared to the light drizzle of rain that was the previous press of his lips. He feels it so acutely, almost like he’s living life in slow motion: Kibum’s lips coaxing his mouth open to suck on his tongue, Kibum’s teeth scraping his plump bottom lip, Kibum’s tongue soothing over it like liquid heat only for him to nip at it again.

A part of him wants to not be in the living room with the other members, but a bigger part of him thrives on it, shaky and winded from their presence, their colorful pajamas and tentative movements a blur on the very edge of his vision. He moves his hands to Kibum’s waist and slides one of them underneath his t-shirt, dragging blunt nails down his side in pink lines. The fabric follows the downward movement of his fingers as if intentionally hiding his handiwork from the others’ eyes, enticing and provocative despite completely covering the evidence of his actions.

It’s rather shameless of him, but Kibum seems far from bothered by it, the hand on his neck sliding upwards to hold the back of his head in place, fingers tangling into his hair. He breathes harshly through his nose, his exhales more like small, cut-off moans than anything else, until Kibum’s hand is sliding under the waistband of his sweatpants and a proper moan is escaping his throat, only barely muffled by the lips covering his.

And then there is the loud sound of someone pointedly clearing their throat.

“Sorry,” Minho says once they’ve untangled themselves and Taemin has stolen a pillow from where Jinki sits on the floor to hide his obvious hard-on. “Not that any of us care, but maybe it’s best there’s no fucking on a first date, you know?”

Oh, Minho _so _cares. It’s not like Minho is actually trying to hide it, the pinch of his eyebrows and the pout on his lips a dead giveaway. It’s cute, the possessive tilt of his voice warm and inviting, fluttery in the way that tells him he’d like to spend some time sat on Minho’s lap later, too, but not right now. Right now he’s slightly annoyed at being interrupted, even more so because he’s sure it has less to do with Minho being left out and more to do with Kibum being the one who nearly fucked him into their couch.

Unfortunately, Minho _does _have a point, even if Minho is only making said point for whatever dick-measuring contest he has going on with Kibum. He’s definitely not ready to sleep with any of them, much less all four of them. He’d like to make out with Kibum some more, though. Kiss everyone else a little bit, maybe. He’s only now realizing they’ll be reprimanded for getting sick often if he has anything to say about how much kissing there’ll be.

“It’s late, anyway,” Jinki says after getting up from his nest of pillows on the floor and stretching his arms up to get rid of the ache settling into his muscles. “Kibum doesn’t live with us anymore if you’ve forgotten. We shouldn’t keep him when he has a puppy to feed. There’s always another day, yes?”

It sounds an awful lot like they’re kicking Kibum out, the jealous bastards, but the mention of the months-old puppy serves its purpose; Kibum is up quicker than it takes to blink, gathering his things and rearranging the cushions in his place in a somewhat orderly manner so as to escape Minho’s nagging. It’s not like Kibum’s been far from home for too long, at most a couple of hours, but he understands that young puppies need care and attention, even if it feels like the adorable ball of curly fur is now directly competing with him for his hyung’s love.

Before he has the chance to voice his complaints, Kibum bends at the waist to lean over and kiss him goodbye, thumb and forefinger holding his chin in place. It’s not a deep kiss at all, only the simple comfort of lips on lips, but it lasts longer than he ever thought sweet kisses were supposed to. It leaves him relaxed and drowsy, almost as if Kibum breathed sleep into his lungs. His eyelids blink slowly as he watches everyone move around him, immersing himself in the familiarity of their movie night routine. Minho scutters to and fro, straightening out clutter and turning off lights, while Jinki accompanies Kibum to their front door with a hand on the small of his back and a smile brightening up his face, sharing their final goodnight wishes.

“Taemin-ah,” Jonghyun starts, a finger poking the swell of his cheek. “You’ve had quite the night, but I’m still not carrying you to the bedroom. Come on,” Jonghyun puffs, lifting him off the couch.

They stop in front of the bathroom, the low but comforting sound of Minho humming as he gets himself ready for sleep coming from further down the hall. Jonghyun pushes him in with his hip, walking them to the sink to brush their teeth side by side, going in and out of each other’s personal space. He’s moving like a zombie, sluggish and half-aware of his surroundings and movements, most of his still working brain space occupied with the slow-burning heat of Jonghyun’s body pressed so close to his, arms brushing.

On their way out of the bathroom, Jinki walks by and pulls him in by the hips, thumb dragging gently on the shaved skin between his navel and his waistband, where his t-shirt has ridden up from being rumpled earlier. He feels more than a little overwhelmed, so many different eyes and hands on him, bodies of different shapes and sizes that give him similar warm, tingly sensations. He wants to know them all, wants to recognize them by the softest touch alone, but it’s too much for a single night, oversensitivity and exhaustion settling in.

Jinki knows, like Jinki always seems to know, and simply kisses his face, with the kind of pressure and intent that some hours ago would have left him beet-red and wondering. “Sleep well, Taeminnie,” Jinki whispers into his cheek.

He yawns and offers a short nod, squeezing Jinki’s arm as an acknowledgment and a reply. He drags his feet to the bedroom he shares with Jonghyun to see his bed has already been made for him, blankets pushed to the end of the bed and pillows round and fluffed up.

Jonghyun is on his phone, absorbed in something Taemin can’t see from this far. The dimmed light from his phone screen illuminates his face in various colors, casting dramatic shadows that emphasize his features. He won’t sleep for a while still, Taemin knows. He might get up to write his lyrics in the middle of the night, inspiration striking through him like lightning.

“Sleep well, Jonghyunnie,” he says anyway. He can barely catch a glimpse of Jonghyun’s answering smile, can only see the upturned corner of his mouth, the edges of his front teeth poking out. He wonders if love is as much about the small things, such as respecting each other’s space and hoping for each other’s good health, as it is about speaking all of the important words out loud.


End file.
